The sky was as gray as worn armor and a fine spray of mist blanketed the ground, permeating the air with moisture. The field was strangely silent as Bryce rode out, his horse trudging through the wet earth. The grassy area around the field was empty, and there were no cheers or hisses filling the air.
Bryce maneuvered his horse toward Talbot, who had agreed to act as his squire. He did not want an audience for this contest. It was between him and Ryen.
He reined up his horse beside Talbot and glanced across the field. Grey was lounging against the wooden fence at the far end of the field. He had consented to squire Ryen, and Bryce wondered if it was because he had asked Grey to do it or out of curiosity to see who would win.
Cursing, Bryce pulled his shield down over his eyes. Rain splattered his face through the small slit in his visor. He heard the dull clink every time a drop hit his plate armor. If I hurt her, I will never forgive myself, but I cannot lose. His warhorse, Hades, snorted beneath him. The animal was skittish today. Bryce tried to hold him still, yet the beast circled and paced, giving Bryce extra time to study Ryen.
He tried to view her as just another knight, as an opponent, but every time he tried he imagined her large, tearful eyes gazing miserably at him and felt her body shake with a sob. Doubt festered in his mind. I have never lost a joust, he told himself. And I will not lose this one. But is it right to overpower her and force her to marry me? She did agree! Was it only because she would never lose face by turning down a challenge? This is the only way to settle our differences! The knightly way, the honorable way. But she is not just a warrior…she is a woman.
Bryce recalled the very first time he had seen her. He remembered her blue eyes shining through that white mist like the flames of a campfire, remembered his initial shock and dismay at finding his adversary to be a woman. Now, as he stared across the field, he watched her through a fine mist of rain, and even though he did not have chains around his wrists, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. He had to win. And yet he had to be careful not to harm her. There had been a time when all he’d wanted was to kill her. Now all he wanted was to wed her.
Angry at not being able to control his wandering thoughts, he grabbed for the jousting pole that Talbot handed to him. Grey gave the signal to begin and Bryce rounded his horse, spurring him on. He bent low in his saddle, pointing the tip at her chest. They raced at each other, coming closer and closer, their horses breathing hotly with the effort of the charge, their hooves kicking up mud in big clumps. They both held their poles firmly at their sides, the deadly tips pointing at each other’s heart.
Suddenly, Bryce felt Hades stumble. He swung his pole forward, needing both his hands on the reins to right his steed. For a split second, fear seized him. Her lance was positioned exactly for his chest and he was off balance. He was an easy target.
Bryce braced for the impact…but it never came. At the last moment, Ryen raised her lance, missing him completely. The two knights passed and Bryce straightened in his saddle, steadying his horse. With my disadvantage she could have easily unhorsed me, he thought. Why didn’t she? He looked over his shoulder in time to see Ryen round her animal and come at him again. Bryce responded, turning his horse to face her and urging the animal forward with a hard kick. As they charged at each other again, Bryce leveled his lance and lowered his body over the horse’s neck. Hit her in the stomach, he thought. She’s light enough and it will knock her off easily.
The horses raced ever closer to one another. Bryce saw the tip of her lance coming toward him. Suddenly he knew his weight behind the impact of his lance would be too much for her. In his mind’s eye, he saw his lance strike her, the wood splinter, and a stray piece pierce her visor. He had seen one man die of such a wound. Panic seized him and he knocked her lance aside with his arm, turning his own away from her.
He raised his visor and turned to face her, shoving his lance to the ground. “Yield to me!” he shouted across the field.
That haughty little chin rose, and in response, she reached for another lance and reeled her steed toward his. Bryce muttered a curse and jerked Hades toward her, weaponless.
Before Ryen reached him, she threw the lance down and reined in her horse, bringing it to a halt.
Bryce stopped Hades not five feet from her.
“You challenged me and now you refuse to fight?” she demanded.
Through the slit of her visor, Bryce could see her blue eyes flashing with fury. “I could not bear to see you hurt,” he answered. “It is not worth my pride or my honor.”
Ryen’s horse whinnied nervously and pranced. “But is it worth my honor?” she queried hotly.
Bryce tried desperately to see past the anger that tightened her grip on the reins and clenched her jaw, but all he could see was the fierce rage that lit her deep blue eyes.
Ryen watched Bryce through the feeling of pain and betrayal that gripped her. “You lied to me about my brother!” she yelled.
“I – I couldn’t tell you!” he shouted back, helpless.
Sadness gripped her. He didn’t trust her enough to tell her. “Pick up your lance,” she said.
“He was mad, dangerous! He could have harmed you.”
“You told me he was dead.” Her voice was tight with sorrow.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he whispered.
She stared at him for a long moment. She wanted desperately to throw down her weapon and run to him, to feel his embrace. To be his wife. But she knew she couldn’t do that. If she did, she would be betraying Lucien, her king, and her country. But mostly, she would be betraying what she was. A warrior. How could she toss aside all that she’d worked for? All that she’d fought to achieve? If she did, she could not respect herself, and she certainly couldn’t ask Bryce to. “Are you afraid to fight me? Are you afraid of defeat?” she taunted.
Bryce’s gaze bit into hers. “Don’t do this.”
But she had; she had no choice. She could not forsake her vows of honor. And if he won, then her vow to him would be the stronger. “Fight me, Prince of Darkness. Face the Angel of Death,” she called. “Or are you a coward?”
Bryce knew he was many things, but a coward was not one of them. He spurred his horse to the other side of the field, steeling his feelings. He had never lost a joust. He would not lose this one. He ripped the lance from Talbot’s hand and turned Hades to face her.
His eyes narrowed as they came to rest upon her. She had removed her helmet. Her hair shone glorious and wild, defiantly vibrant beneath the light rain. Her large eyes glared across the field at him. Even at this distance, she enflamed his soul. He felt desire course though him, tensing every muscle into rebellion. He growled low in his throat. Damn her, he thought. She attempts to distract me.
Then she spurred her horse. Bryce matched her movement. The thunder of the horse’s hooves pounded in Bryce’s ears as they moved toward each other. The tip of her lance was held even and steady.
Bryce forced his mind to focus on victory. He had to hit her in the stomach. He bent low over his mount, centering the pole in his hand. His eyes held on his target.
Ryen’s hair waved behind her in the wind. For a moment, he pictured his hand running over the length of it, caressing its softness.
By the time he realized that her subtle trick had worked, it was too late. His lance struck her arm just as he felt an impact smash into his side. Pain roared in his head as he flew from Hades and he saw the sky above him for an instant before his body crashed to the earth. Stunned, he lay still for a long moment, staring at the gray sky. He, the Prince of Darkness, thrown from his horse in a joust! This must be a horrible nightmare. Then a throbbing in his side brought him back to reality. He groaned and pushed himself onto his good side. Somehow, he managed to pull his helmet from his head.
She won, he thought, stunned. No one had ever defeated him. The little vixen had tricked him and won. Her victory brought a sudden sobriety to him. He pushed himself from the ground, looking for her atop her mount. I
nstead, the sight that greeted him brought a wave of cold chills to his body.
Ryen was lying in the grass not ten feet from him.
Bryce rose, cradling his side, which had suddenly gone numb. He took a hesitant step forward. She wasn’t moving. Images of her lying in the mud at the Battle of Agincourt flashed through his mind. “No,” he whispered, the agonized gasp wrenched from a suddenly tight throat.
His steps increased in length and urgency until he was running and he skidded to a halt in the wet grass and gazed at her. She can’t be hurt. I will never forgive myself. “Ryen,” he groaned, fear etched in his dark eyes. He dropped to one knee beside her, his gaze sweeping anxiously over her body. There was no blood, unlike at Agincourt. She was all right. He knew it the moment her large eyes turned up to him. He knew it the moment she pressed the dagger against his throat.
He was so startled that for a long moment he could not move, did not breathe. The treacherous little wench, he thought. And I was worried for her safety. Two can play at that game.
Gasping for breath, Bryce doubled over, holding his ribs. There was pain spearing through his body from the impact of the lance, but he had experienced the agony in battle before and knew the results would be only dark bruises.
The dagger was immediately replaced by caring hands and Bryce knew he had won. He seized the wrist of her dagger hand and drew her close, crushing her in an embrace so powerful that it threatened to break her ribs. “I learn quickly, Angel,” he murmured into her ear.
He felt the outrage surge through her body, felt her push against his embrace, but he did not let go.
“You knew I would come to your aid,” he said with admiration in his voice. “You knew my only weakness would be you.” Her impudent silence was answer enough for him and he chuckled as she increased her struggle. “And I guessed your only weakness would be me.”
“You arrogant –” Ryen shoved against his chest.
When he glanced down at her, there was sorrow in his dark eyes. “I never meant to hurt you. But I could not risk losing you.”
Suddenly she wrenched away from him. Disbelief flashed through her bright blue eyes, then suspicion. “Sword!” she called, replacing the dagger in her belt. “I thought you were returning me to France,” she snarled, as Grey ran up and handed her a sword.
Bryce tried to ignore the glint of amusement that lit Grey’s face as he backed away. “If I had wanted you returned to France, I would have taken the gold and let Dumas have you.”
“One bag of gold,” Ryen murmured, and swung the blade.
Bryce ducked as the blade swooshed over his head. Had that been disappointment in her voice? Bryce’s throaty chuckle reached her ears. “Angel, there were more than two carts full in the courtyard.”
Shock rounded her eyes as she stared at him, the sword held at the ready beside her head.
“You did not think I would let you go for one tiny bag of gold, did you?”
Talbot rushed to Bryce’s side and handed him his sword. Bryce stared at it for a long moment before lifting it from Talbot’s hands.
“Two carts?” she gasped.
Still, Bryce did not raise his sword to her. “Don’t you know what you mean to me? My life was complete in those days we were together. Those days when you were happy with me. I want that happiness again. For you and for me. Somewhere… somehow… you became more to me than my enemy, more than France. You became my Angel.” Bryce stared into her large blue eyes. They had softened, and for a moment he dared to hope. Would she give up everything for him? Would she lay down her weapon to be his wife?
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then he saw her fingers tighten around the handle of the blade. It was only instinct that saved him from her blow as he raised his own weapon and blocked her swing.
The swords rang out through the battlefield.
“Do not make me fight you. I do not want that, Ryen,” he stated between the crossed weapons. “I want you willing.”
“Willing?” she echoed.
“Willing to spend your life with me. Willing to be my wife.”
“You want me?” she asked in disbelief, yanking her weapon back.
“I have wanted you since the first day I saw you,” Bryce stated. He saw the conflict in her until her brows crashed together and he had to block another swing.
“I will not yield to you,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
“Then I have no choice,” Bryce said. He swung mightily, meaning to knock the sword from her hands, but Ryen blocked the blow, using two hands to hold her weapon. The blades crossed and he stared at her between the sharp edges of their swords. “You cannot possibly win under my strength.” He forced the weapons closer and closer until their lips were almost touching. “Believe what I say, Angel. I love you with all my heart.”
She faltered and he easily pushed forward, brushing her lips with his. He could have won, he had no doubt, but it was far more pleasurable to feel the warmth of her soft lips than the taste of victory. His body trembled with wanting, not just physical, but the need for her at his side, with him always.
When he pulled slightly away, he saw her eyes darken with desire. “If you yield, you swear fealty to me,” he stated quietly. “It means forsaking your family, your country, to remain at my side. You would never be able to return to France. Would you give that up for me?”
Her lips moved and he could have sworn they had whispered an affirmation. But in the next moment she was shoving him away. He fell onto his back and barely had time to roll out of the way before her sword arced to the ground. “Do you think I betray my vows so easily?”
He pushed himself to his feet.
“You must defeat me first, Prince of Darkness,” she challenged. “Then and only then can I swear fealty to you.”
Bryce’s eyes narrowed and his spine stiffened as he drew himself up straighter. “As you wish,” he answered. He raised his arm, swinging the blade. Ryen deflected the blow and countered with an arc toward his side. Bryce stepped back and dodged, spinning to attack again.
The blade slammed down above Ryen’s head and she parried with a mighty swing.
She is an admirable opponent, Bryce thought. Yet even as I enjoy the swordplay, I must bring this to an end. He attacked Ryen relentlessly, driving her further and further back under a barrage of powerful swings and blows. But Ryen was quick, easily dodging or deflecting his attacks.
Finally, with a loud growl of frustration, Bryce swung his blade. Ryen’s sword was knocked loose from her hand and the blade spun into the air. She slipped in the mud and went down to her knee.
Bryce paused for a long moment, breathing heavily. Her head was down, her long hair wet with rain, falling to the ground. He stepped forward and calmly put the tip of his sword beneath her lovely neck. With the slightest hint of pressure, he forced her head up until her eyes locked with his.
He could read no emotion in those deep blue eyes. “Yield to me, my Angel,” he whispered.
She moved her body slightly and did not say a word. Then a small smile slid over her lips and she replied, “I can think of no one better to spend the rest of my life with, no one I love more.”
His face exploded with joy and a smile that threatened to clear up the gray skies. He lowered his sword and took her chin in his hand to study every detail of her face, her rain-moistened skin, her mist-kissed lips, and those sapphire eyes that had captured his heart. “You are everything I could possibly want. I have been a fool not to recognize my happiness for what it is. I love you, Angel.” His gloved fingers traced her cheeks from her soft hairline to her lips. “You are so beautiful.”
Ryen’s mouth dropped open. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“More than all of England.”
“Then…when you were my prisoner…under the truth powder –”
Bryce grinned, a boyish, shy smile that filled Ryen’s heart completely. “It was the only truthful thing I told you that day.” He was drawing closer to kiss her when
he felt something press against his ribs. He glanced down to see a small dagger in her hand resting against the gap in his armor.
He pulled back sharply to gaze into her eyes once more.
“We’ll never know,” she whispered.
He frowned as she lowered the weapon. “Know what?” he asked.
“Who’s the better warrior,” she murmured, and leaned forward to press her lips against his.
Bryce framed her head with his hands, pulling her to her feet without breaking the kiss. She had yielded…she had yielded of her own accord! The better warrior, he thought. But the kiss deepened and he pulled her closer against him.
Then he scooped her up into his arms and spun her around in the misty rain, joyous laughter bubbling from his throat.
Epilogue
France
Darkness descended over the hillside, covering it like a blanket. The flickering lights of campfires dotted the darkness. In a thicket not far from the camp, a hooded figure huddled in the shadows thrown by giant trees.
Jean Claude De Bouriez stepped into the thicket under the watchful gaze of the silent figure. He glanced about the small clearing and stood motionless for a long moment.
Then the hooded figure moved into the moonlight, its pale glow washing over him, making his robe glow. Jean Claude’s head turned. He stared hard, perusing the figure from head to toe.
Slowly a slender hand emerged from the folds of the robe and pushed back the hood. Dark hair tumbled riotously from the confines of the material. Ryen De Bouriez, now Ryen Princeton, stood proudly and somewhat uncertainly before her father, trying to see into his unreadable eyes. She did not move forward, but waited cautiously. “You wanted to see me?”
“Ryen,” he gasped, and she heard the pain that gripped his voice.
Ryen’s heart coiled tightly and she stepped closer. “We’ve brought Lucien back.”
Jean Claude nodded. “Yes. He’s safely in camp,” he replied. “He is determined to return to England for you.”
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